


nosebleed

by nights



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (See Title), Assassination Attempt(s), Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Zuko (Avatar), Post-Canon, Roughness, Shameless Smut, There's a little blood, make-up sex, minor scratches and bruises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27278758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nights/pseuds/nights
Summary: Sokka’s staring at him, panting, fist still white-knuckled around the hilt of his sword. His eyes are heavy, they swim in the lantern light before Zuko — he steps toward Sokka, looking him over in concern. The room had been filled with the cries of battle, the sound of metal meeting metal, but now it’s deathly silent.---Zuko's worked up after weeks of bickering with his husband, and it takes an entire assassination attempt to break the tension.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 645
Collections: HZH Horny ATLA Fic





	nosebleed

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot that's been marinating in my WIP folder for a while, and here it finally is.
> 
> TW: swords and such, blood, minor scratches and bruises, they get a little rough with each other.

Zuko wakes in the middle of the night.

It’s not unusual for him. He’s always been somewhat of a light sleeper, and the last few weeks haven’t helped; tense, argumentative council meetings and a messenger hawk carrying poisoned powder don’t really hasten sweet dreams. And — although Zuko hated to admit it — he and Sokka were fighting. Well, not _fighting_ , per se; more yelling with each other than at each other, but they hadn’t so much as _kissed_ in those weeks — well, that’s not quite true, Sokka had given his cheek a terse peck that morning. Not the kind of kiss Zuko missed. Zuko tries his best to keep his position from tainting their relationship, but Sokka wasn’t immune to the crackling tone that Zuko brought into their bed, and Sokka had gotten a scroll addressed to him, too.

Zuko knows it will pass, of course it will; still, Sokka sleeps next to him with his back turned.

He sighs, rubbing at his eyes. Sleep still tugs at him, but something… his dream, maybe, had set his muscles to clench. Zuko rubs at his jaw, tight, opening it to flex and try to stretch away some of the dull ache that had taken up residence there. _I’m gonna lose all my teeth if I keep doing this in my sleep._

Zuko tosses, then turns, then squirms onto his back to stare up at the cloth veiling their bed. It’s crimson, he knows that, but in the night it's colorless, black — something shifts out of the corner of Zuko’s eye. He sucks in a breath, peeking over: nothing. Imagining things, like always. The night had always shivered and shifted for Zuko, a malicious entity in the corners of the palace.

A twang, then a bolt sinking into the pillow next to Zuko’s head.

He yelps and rolls to the side, yanking the blankets with him, and Sokka grumbles something angrily. The shadows leap into action in earnest, and so does Zuko, throwing the blankets to the floor and yelling for the guards.

“Sokka — !”

“ _Fuck!_ ”

Sokka’s fully awake and caught up, now, tumbling to the floor and out of the way of two more bolts — one of them must have a crossbow — landing in their bed with a dull _thunk-thunk_. They keep a few weapons under the bed; Sokka must have gotten his hands on one of them, because between darting out of the way of the assassin’s blades, Zuko hears the metal clang of steel striking steel.

They’re fast, but when Zuko lets out a plume of fire, he can finally see them: just people, just foes to cross blades with. The doors to their room slam open, and three royal guards rush in. Zuko doesn’t think, just strikes, fire bursting from his fist, billowing out from his heel. Some of his room is bound to get singed, but that doesn’t matter, not when he can still hear Sokka’s battle cries from across the bed.

An assassin ducks out of the way, and Zuko leans down, slips a hand under the bed — there. His bending is defense enough, but they’re too agile to bring down without his familiar dao. He brings them out to his sides, catches a glimpse of the flash of an assassin’s blade, and parries. Zuko registers dimly that his guards are still standing, miraculously; these assassins might be quick, but their deadliness leaves much to be desired.

Still, one lands a hard-knuckled punch to his face. _Rude._

Zuko brings the assassin down, stumbling over a low table that knocks roughly against his knees, realizes too late that another has caught him off guard — before Sokka’s there, at his side, with an upward thrust of his own sword. He’s breathing hard, hair disheveled; Zuko can’t see much more, in the dark, and then he’s rushing toward another assassin with their bow drawn. It takes them too long to draw their arm back, and Zuko knocks them out with a sword to their bow and an elbow to their face. He spins, sure that there’s more, but there’s just Sokka and the three guards.

Sokka has a foot on one of the assassin’s throats, sword pointing to their face. The guards are barely standing; one of them moans and slumps to the floor, and Zuko rushes to her side.

“Get help,” he spits at the other two — he belatedly regrets his tone, but surely they’ll understand, and either way, they’re rushing out the door in a clamor of armor.

Zuko lights the lanterns with a shaky jerk of two fingers, and then he can see the guard beneath him more clearly: she’s young, much younger than him — _Stars, she must be barely eighteen_ — and her brow is furrowed in pain. She grits her teeth, getting an elbow under her, and struggles to sit up.

“My lord, I’m fine,” she says roughly, but her elbow catches a pool of blood and slips, her shoulder blade knocking into the floor again.

“Stop moving,” Zuko snaps, and swallows around his own hammering pulse. “Just, you’ve done enough. We’ll get you to the infirmary,” he says, gentler. “Where are you injured?”

She pulls back at a tear in her uniform, revealing a slash to her side. She winces, and then a smattering of guards are at the open door. The injured guards and captured assassins are carted away before Zuko can say anything, and there’s just a pair of guards standing with backs ramrod straight, watching the windows closely. He feels dazed, hyperaware of his body with the adrenaline still rushing through him —

Sokka’s staring at him, panting, fist still white-knuckled around the hilt of his sword. His eyes are heavy, they swim in the lantern light before Zuko — he steps toward Sokka, looking him over in concern. The room had been filled with the cries of battle, the sound of metal meeting metal, but now it’s deathly silent.

“Are you —”

“I’m okay. You’re — ?”

“Fine.”

Sokka’s sword clatters to the ground — the sound startles Zuko — and something shatters between them, and then Sokka’s got his hands in Zuko’s sleep robes and his mouth smashed into Zuko’s.

Zuko muffles out a grunt, surprised, and an embarrassingly loud pant slips out when Sokka’s lips part before Zuko’s. _The guards —_ Sokka’s tongue slides into Zuko’s mouth clumsily — _they’re right there_ — Sokka manhandles Zuko, and he feels the rattle of the wardrobe behind him when they slam up into it. Zuko feels his stomach clench, sinks his hands into Sokka’s sweaty hair, and clutches his face as close has he can possibly get it; Sokka’s breath is hot in his mouth, and the wardrobe rattles again when Sokka presses his hips into Zuko’s and pins him to the cherry finish.

Zuko dimly registers a guard clearing his throat, then squeaking, “Um… sir…”

He tears his face to the side, and Sokka takes the opportunity to attach his mouth to Zuko’s neck.

“Get out,” Zuko rasps — the guards don’t need to be told twice.

Sokka gets his teeth into the meat of Zuko’s shoulder, and Zuko hisses — it _hurts_ , almost like Sokka means it, but Zuko’s still so wired from the heat of battle that the pain settles in his chest in a good way, a _very_ good way, in a way that makes his hips snap forward against Sokka’s, in a way that rattles the wardrobe again.

The door to their bedroom slams shut, and the lock slides home, and Sokka moans, tongue running over the marks he’s surely made.

“You and your fucking —” Sokka gasps, and Zuko tangles his fingers in Sokka’s hair, “— firebending swords —” Zuko uses the grip to wrench Sokka’s head back, baring Sokka’s throat before him. Sokka smiles, teeth glinting in the lanternlight.

Zuko realizes suddenly that Sokka’s got a split lip and a bruise slowly blooming on his cheekbone, and his heart stumbles over itself.

“Your lip,” Zuko grates out, keeping his grip in Sokka’s hair and bringing his free hand to brush the wound.

“Fuck my lip. Actually, fuck my mouth.”

“Sokka —”

He ducks his head to take Zuko’s fingertips into his mouth — the motion pulls at the hair still wrapped in Zuko’s hand — and his tongue slides over them, hot and persistent. Zuko can’t help that a moan leaks out, and Sokka smiles again, hands gripping tight to Zuko’s hips. It’s too delicious, too tempting not to run his fingers over Sokka’s lips. He skirts the edge of the cut, and Sokka doesn’t even wince, just stares at Zuko with heavy eyelids.

“Do it. I want you to. Shit. Also, you’ve got a nosebleed.”

Zuko brings his spit-slick fingers to his upper lip and pulls them back — sure enough, they’re tinted red, and when he licks his lip he gets that unmistakable metallic tang — and Sokka’s got his mouth hanging open, panting, eyes following the movement of Zuko’s tongue. Sokka slams his hips in again, even though he’s already flush against Zuko, and it rattles the absolute hell out of the wood behind him.

“You’re gonna break my wardrobe,” Zuko growls, shoving his fingers back in Sokka’s mouth and curling his grip at Sokka’s hair tighter.

Sokka’s tongue is sliding along the line of Zuko’s fingers, but he manages to garble out, “So what if I do?” and punctuates it with another rough thrust of his hips.

“You’re so _fucking_ annoying,” he snaps, dragging his fingers from Sokka’s mouth and relishing the way Sokka’s tongue follows after them. “You barely talk to me all week and then you shove me around like this?”

Sokka’s lips curl back. “Oh, fuck you —”

“Promise?” Zuko’s hand leaves Sokka’s hair and skates down the back of his neck.

“Fuck you,” he says, through a grin, “and your stupid fucking meetings that make you all pissy andrude —” Sokka gasps at Zuko licking up the line of Sokka’s throat, “— and act like everything is just your problem and like you’re this big stupid martyr —”

 _So it’s all coming out now, then,_ Zuko thinks, teeth knocking against the jut of Sokka’s Adam’s apple, feeling the rumble of Sokka’s words under his tongue.

“— even though I’m getting assassinated just like you, you fucking _idiot_ —”

“Fuck off,” Zuko spits, and goes back to laving over Sokka’s neck, squirming under the pawing of Sokka’s hands at his ass.

“Telling me I haven’t talked to you all week, you stupid, ugh, when _you’re_ the one brushing _me_ off —”

Zuko pulls off of Sokka’s neck with an indignant “Oh, please,” before Sokka’s mouth is on his again, and whatever else he had to say is either muffled or lost in the swirl of his brain. He knows he hasn’t been the _sweetest_ husband lately, but it’s not all his fault. Is it? Sokka’s been stressed, too, they’re both — they’re both — he’ll have to think about that later, because Sokka’s hauling Zuko away from the wardrobe and across the room.

Zuko’s heel slides, catching a patch of half-dried blood — _gross, blech_ — but Sokka has him clutched so tight he barely stumbles, and then Sokka pushes him back onto the bed roughly. Something juts into Zuko’s side; his fingers close around it and he yanks. A crossbow bolt.

“Bastards,” Zuko says, tossing it off the other edge of the mattress. “Ruining our bed.”

“Well.” Sokka shoves Zuko’s knees apart and climbs over him, hips settling their weight into Zuko’s, and he can feel Sokka’s desperation pushing hot and hard against his own. “If the bed’s already broken.”

That gets a smile out of Zuko, despite himself, and he rolls his eyes. “The bedframe is still fine.”

“Let’s change that,” Sokka breathes onto Zuko’s collarbone.

His hands pull at the tie of Zuko’s robes, sliding the silky material off, and Zuko goes along with it, shifting to get his arms out of the sleeves. His arm stings, and he hisses, and Sokka’s eyes flash in concern as Zuko holds his arm up to inspect it. A wound: long, thin, more of a scratch than anything real, running along his bicep.

“’S nothing,” Zuko says, pulling Sokka in for a rough kiss. “Didn’t even notice it.”

Sokka pulls back, nipping at Zuko’s jaw, mouthing over Zuko’s chest. He takes a detour, stopping to press a soft kiss to Zuko’s scratch, before licking a nipple and watching Zuko’s body flex under the attention.

“Did you miss this?” Sokka groans, leaning up to hover and rake his eyes across an entirely naked Zuko below him. “Did you miss me?” Zuko squirms under the gaze; he doesn’t like how it makes him feel tender and raw inside, he wants that growling heat back again. Besides, his cock is aching, laying heavy on his stomach, and that’s really where Sokka’s attention should be right now.

“Of course I did. Fucker,” he jabs, and Sokka’s eyes narrow even as his grin spreads.

“Is that what I am?” Sokka shifts back, getting his hands on Zuko’s hips and hauling him to the edge of the bed.

“You still want me to fuck your mouth?” Zuko blurts, and almost apologizes — he doesn’t know just what has gotten into him, really — but Sokka moans and wraps a hand around his weeping cock, so. No apology necessary, apparently.

“Do it,” Sokka demands, tongue running up the length of it. “Come on.”

Zuko sits up, and Sokka falls to his knees in front of him, wrapping his lips around the head and swirling his tongue. Zuko sucks in a breath through his nose, whines when Sokka looks up at him like he’s about to devour him whole.

“Sokka, I’m —” his hips push up slow into Sokka’s mouth, and Sokka sinks down eagerly, “Holy shit.”

Sokka’s out for vengeance, apparently, pushing his own head down, tongue flexing, making absolutely obscene noises that make Zuko’s joints melt. He’s already trembling under Sokka, and Sokka’s eyes roll back as he sucks him down. He pulls off, a hand wrapped around Zuko’s base, lips slick and — Zuko had forgotten about that split lip for a minute. He gasps, pressing his thumb to Sokka’s bottom lip, swollen from some wrecked combination of the wound and Zuko’s cock.

“You’re still not fucking my mouth,” Sokka says, tongue brushing the tip of Zuko’s thumb.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Zuko says dumbly, vision pleasantly hazy.

Sokka snorts. “You tell me. I’ve done it to you enough.”

“No, your lip.”

More rolling of his eyes. “It doesn’t fucking hurt. Shit, you don’t take directions well, do you?”

“You really want me to?”

“Yes.”

Zuko huffs. “Fine. If you want it so bad, then.”

Sokka grins and lowers his head again, and then its just wet heat and Zuko’s hand in Sokka’s hair and Sokka moaning as Zuko’s hips buck up again, again, again. Sokka’s eyes flutter — _so beautiful, so fucking hot_ — and Zuko loses himself in it before realizing that shit, it’s been a while, and pulls back from Sokka’s mouth. The motion leaves a strand of spit hanging between his cock and Sokka’s lip, and Zuko thinks he actually might finish from just that image, Sokka smiling at him with lidded eyes.

“Sokka… you’re… you’re ridiculous.”

“Hm, yeah. I’m gonna fuck you into next week.”

He says it so casually, it makes Zuko’s stomach lurch, and then Sokka hooks Zuko’s knees over his shoulders and licks a stripe across his hole. It makes him clench, the sudden feeling of a wet tongue lapping there, and Sokka chuckles.

It always makes Zuko breathless and squirmy, when Sokka rims him. It feels filthy, delicious, makes him want to hide his face at the knowledge that he loves it so much. Zuko grips the bedspread, tugs at it in his fists, and hears a quiet rip — he manages to prop himself up on his elbows and sees where his pulling had shorn a wider tear around another crossbow bolt. It’s across the bed, and Zuko can’t reach it, so he just shuts his eyes against the feeling of Sokka’s tongue licking him open. _Whatever. The sheets are ruined, anyways._

A finger, then another, press inside him in quick succession, and Sokka picks his head up to grin at Zuko knowingly. It burns a little, and Zuko whines, but then Sokka’s letting a messy glob of saliva drip over his fingers and works that in, careful. He licks over Zuko’s perineum, mouths at his balls, and drools again — watching Sokka make an absolute scene of it has Zuko’s cock twitching against his stomach, and Zuko’s hips roll back onto Sokka’s fingers desperately. It’d be easier, faster with the lubricant they normally use, but Zuko isn’t about to complain when Sokka’s taking his sweet time with him and letting saliva slide obscenely out of his mouth, lips still swollen and messy from Zuko’s manhandling and from the fight.

“Sokka, this is, you’re —” he pants, and Sokka watches Zuko’s mouth drop open while he works another finger inside.

“What was that?” Sokka teases, twisting his hand until he’s in to the knuckles. “You were saying something?”

Zuko gasps and tries to keep his eyes open, gritting his teeth when Sokka thrusts in. “Fuck you.”

“Hm, no. I’m gonna fuck _you_.”

Sokka’s got his fingers pressing up into Zuko’s prostate, and it makes Zuko want to dissolve into a mess of begging, embarrassing whimpers, but he resolves not to give Sokka that satisfaction. Not yet, at least. He swallows, desperately hanging on to his composure, and tries to level a determined look at Sokka. He’s not sure if he succeeds.

“You keep saying that, and not doing it,” Zuko says, and it comes out so much higher and broken than he really intended it to.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Sokka snarks back, punctuating it with another press of his fingers. “I’m gonna give you what you want so fucking bad. I’m just having too much fun, playing with you.”

Sokka pulls his fingers almost all the way out, and the tip of his pinky finger brushes the slick rim of muscle. He pauses to let a messy stream of spit slide over his hand again, and dips to lick a quick stripe along Zuko’s cock, a surprise that makes Zuko jerk and moan. Sokka slips that pinky in, twisting his fingers as he works them in slowly. It’s all Zuko can do to keep his eyes from fluttering and keep a lid on his whining.

“Spirits, you just take it all, don’t you? Look at you, sitting there patiently for me to finger you open. Not so pissed off now, huh?”

“No,” Zuko breathes, and leans back, shutting his eyes and focusing on steadying his breathing. It’s hard to keep from dissolving into a desperate puddle. With his eyes closed, it’s just Sokka’s fingers filling him up and his teasing voice filling his ears.

“So you’re too busy for our Friday night dinner, but not too busy for this?” Another twist of his fingers, and then they slip out, and Zuko sucks in a gasp.

“You know that’s not true, Sokka,” he snaps, a flash of frustration curling in his gut. _What am I supposed to do, neglect my duties? He knows I’ve been busy lately, it’s not always like this. He said he understood._

Sokka slides out from under Zuko’s legs and stands. He leans over him, bracing himself with hands on the bed.

“No? You _didn’t_ cancel on me for the last three weeks, then?” His voice is sharp, but a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

A petulant part of Zuko wants to argue, but he keeps his mouth shut and furrows his brow. _Maybe Sokka has a point._ He definitely has a point, but Zuko scoots back, away from Sokka’s mischievous smile, and Sokka follows, crawling over him, chasing after him with his mouth. He runs his tongue over Zuko’s stomach, his chest, and Zuko flips over, trying to squirm away from the tickling sensation.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Sokka says, and drops to pin Zuko to the mattress with the weight of his body. He’s still fully clothed, and the thought makes Zuko’s skin flush hot; being naked, sweating and desperate, pinned under him, is thrilling.

Sokka gets a leg over either side of Zuko, and Zuko’s hand manages to grasp the back of Sokka’s neck and pull him down, closer. Sokka grunts, kissing Zuko’s neck, a hand running down Zuko’s ribs. Zuko grinds down into the mattress, desperate for a little friction, something, anything, and then Sokka’s fingers run through his hair and pull, and Zuko’s moan is so loud and wanton he even startles himself.

“Is this what you want? You want me to fuck the stress out of you?” Sokka growls into Zuko’s ear. It makes him shiver, and Zuko pushes his ass back into Sokka’s cock in a _yes_ , but he’s feeling obstinate just then. He’s gonna make Sokka work for it.

“Like you could,” Zuko spits, and sucks in a breath when Sokka tugs at his hair roughly.

“Is that a challenge?”

“You talk big game, where’s the cock to back it up?” Zuko rolls his hips back again.

“Oh, you fucking —” Sokka huffs, and Zuko grips the back of Sokka’s neck tighter. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget your name.”

“All talk.”

Sokka lifts his weight up, shifting to get his pants down, and Zuko takes the opportunity to squirm away, limbs knocking into Sokka’s roughly. He gets what he wants: Sokka wrestles him into the mattress again, this time with a hand around each of Zuko’s wrists. Zuko makes a half-hearted struggle, but his whine gives him away, and he’s breathing like he just sprinted a mile.

“Where you going? I thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Sokka says, teasingly sweet, and Zuko just moans. “If you wanted me to pin you down, you could have just asked.”

Sokka manhandles Zuko’s wrists to the small his back and clasps them in one hand, pressing them down hard, and Zuko writhes. He turns his head to the side to pant, open-mouthed, and glares at Sokka. Zuko’s as hard as he’s ever been, torn between grinding down into the sheets for a little relief and pushing back up into Sokka to wordlessly beg for more. Sokka tucks his head next to Zuko’s, kissing at his jaw, breath hot on his ear — and doesn’t do anything more than rock his hips, now-bare cock pressing at Zuko’s ass.

It’s infuriating, the teasing promise of what Zuko really wants, Sokka’s tongue sliding over his skin, the sound of Sokka’s moans so clear and beautiful right next to Zuko’s ear. He shifts, pulling lightly at Sokka’s grip around his wrists, but Sokka’s got them pinned tight and perfect. He doesn’t want to beg, he really doesn’t, but the longer they stay like that, with Sokka’s hips pantomiming what Zuko needs, the more Zuko’s resolve crumbles.

Finally, with a shaky voice, Zuko begs.

“Please. Sokka, please just — I’m so —” Sokka doesn’t say anything, just sighs in satisfaction and lets Zuko babble. “It’s been so long, haven’t had your cock in so long, you’re — you’re killing me. I’m sorry I’ve been snappy lately, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I canceled on you, please. Please, _spirits_ , just want you to — please. Say something, fuck me, do anything.”

“But you sound so beautiful like this,” Sokka breathes, hips lifting, “begging so nicely for me. Didn’t want to interrupt.” The tip of his cock presses against Zuko’s still-slick rim, and Zuko bites down on a moan.

“Please, it’s been _weeks_ Sokka, I need it —” and then Sokka slides in, and Zuko sobs, finally getting that sweet stretch he was so desperate for.

Sokka moans at the feeling, breath coming choppy and stilted, and swivels his hips. Zuko settles in, spreading his legs a little to let Sokka in as deep as he can, eyelids sliding shut.

“And whose fault is that?” Sokka says, starting with a few agonizingly slow thrusts for Zuko to get used to.

“It’s my fault,” Zuko pants, “Harder, _please_ — I know, I’m the one that said I was too tired —”

Sokka picks up his pace, each thrust pushing Zuko’s hips down into the mattress. “I’ve tried to be patient, Zuko, but — hunh, fuck. I missed this.”

“I know, I’m s—”

“Stop apologizing and let me fuck you.”

Zuko shuts up then, lets Sokka pound into him hard, lets his body go limp and give himself over to the feeling of Sokka on top of him, in him, all around him, Sokka’s mouth on his neck and his breath in his ear. He turns his face a little, to press it into the sheets and muffle his whines, and spreads his legs a little further to try to get as much of Sokka as he can. Sokka’s moaning, gasping, and not letting up, and finally just presses his cheek against Zuko’s and grits his teeth, focusing on giving Zuko what he asked for.

Zuko tilts his mouth towards Sokka’s. “I’m sorry,” Zuko breathes again, soft as a whisper between them, moans breaking through at the impossibly good feeling of Sokka rubbing at his prostate.

“Oh, baby.” Zuko moans again — he missed that name. Sokka slows to thrust deep, rocking his hips. “Baby, it’s okay.” Sokka’s voice loses all its edge, going gentle and honey-sweet. “Don’t worry. It’s okay.”

Zuko’s head is spinning, dizzy with pleasure, Sokka burning inside him with every movement of his hips, the friction of the sheets teasing against his cock beneath him. It’s so _much_ , and it had been such a tense few weeks, he’s been so riled up from battle and Sokka’s mouth on him and the roughness, that Sokka’s soft voice in his ear is a release all it’s own. Zuko feels tears prickle at his eyes, bead up and leak out. He isn’t sad, that’s not it — his chest doesn’t clench up in a sob. The tears come easy, more of them sliding out with each hum of pleasure that shoots up Zuko’s spine. He gasps, and Sokka kisses his cheek, then tenses up and slows.

“Zuko, are you okay?” He stops, hands releasing Zuko’s wrists to brush at Zuko’s wet cheek. “You’re crying.”

“No, it’s fine. Good crying.”

“Good crying?” Sokka sounds skeptical. _I don’t blame him,_ Zuko thinks, but it really is good.

“Just feels so good. ‘M fine, I promise.” He takes a deep breath, and Sokka kisses his cheek again. “Please keep going. I’m just — really happy.”

“Okay. Love you.”

Zuko hums, and Sokka moves again in little thrusts. With his hands free, Zuko can grip the sheets beneath him, and then Sokka shifts, weight settling on top of Zuko so that he can tangle both his hands between Zuko’s fingers.

“You feel so good,” Sokka breathes, and Zuko sighs. “Missed this.”

Zuko tilts his hips back. “I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby. It’s okay.” He kisses Zuko’s cheek, his neck, his ear. “I’ve — ah, yeah — I’ve got you.”

The tears prickle anew, and Zuko’s toes curl, and Sokka takes him long and slow, mouthing at Zuko’s skin and gripping his hands hard. It’s quiet, for a while, just gasping and moaning, until Zuko, swallowing around the salty tears, breaks it.

“Talk to me?” he asks, and Sokka hums.

“Of course, baby. You want me to tell you how good you’re being for me?” He knows. It’s been established a million times before, at first something Zuko didn’t talk about after they were done, then finally something that he explained — blushing furiously, with Sokka sweaty next to him — was one of his favorite parts.

“Mmhmm.” Zuko’s long past feeling silly asking for it, now, especially after Sokka told him how much he loved it, too, especially when Sokka told him how much he enjoyed the way it made Zuko go flushed and glassy-eyed.

“Zuko… you’re _so_ good for me, just like this. You take my cock so well, baby.” Zuko’s belly twists at his words, and he sighs a little moan. “That’s right. I know you love when I talk dirty.”

“Mm, I do.”

“Good boy,” Sokka whispers, and a high whimper finds it’s way out of Zuko. “Spirits, the way you sound when I fuck you — when I, hnh, fill you up —” Zuko whines and bites down on the sheets beneath him, “— baby, it’s so fucking hot. Just, just, ah — so desperate for it —”

And Zuko _is_ desperate, coming apart underneath him, half-aware of the sounds coming out of himself: low groans when Sokka gives a hard thrust in, reedy sighs when he pulls out, crumbling whimpers when he shifts and gets an even better angle that makes Zuko start to shake.

“You’re incredible,” Sokka sighs, “That fucking ass — so hot and tight for me. So good for me… look at you.”

Zuko groans, feels more tears leak out at how sweet Sokka’s cock feels sliding in him, and ruts into the bed, searching for just a little friction. He’s been close for a long time, getting delirious with it, more tears coming the closer he gets. He almost wants to ask Sokka to just give it to him hard, but he doesn’t want to give up the slow, deliberate way Sokka’s taking him apart.

“This feel good?” Sokka checks, thumbing over a tear, lips brushing over Zuko’s neck.

“Y—yeah,” Zuko says shakily. “Feels — feels so fucking good, Sokka. I’m, uh. Hnh, I’m close.”

“You are? Baby.” Zuko hisses out a sigh. “You’re gonna come for me? Oh, I wanna see it. Looks so good,” Sokka groans, panting, thrusting a little faster. “I’m — Zuko, fuck. I’m barely holding on.” The admission, breathed into Zuko’s ear, makes his gut clench harder, and he rubs himself against the sheets, pushes back against Sokka. Just a little more — “That’s right, baby, want you to feel so good, fuck yourself back onto my cock like that —”

Sokka’s words are all Zuko needs to finally get there, and it makes Zuko’s eyes slam shut with the force of it. He shakes, muscles tensing as hard as they can, gasping, and Sokka kisses him through it, rocking his hips deep. It’s a long one, Zuko trembling underneath Sokka, sensitive and raw, making some sort of broken moan that gets wet and garbled with tears. Sokka brushes Zuko’s sweaty hair back from his brow, murmuring sweet things that Zuko can’t focus on, and then Zuko blinks his eyes open and sighs, pushing back against Sokka again.

“Sokka, so fucking good,” he says, “wanna make you feel good, too.”

“Hm, you are,” Sokka responds, starting up the long strokes from before. Zuko hisses at the pull, oversensitive, and Sokka pauses.

“No, it’s good,” Zuko says hurriedly, “Please, want you to come. Inside me. Please, Sokka.”

Sokka groans at that, thrusting again, hand loose in Zuko’s hair. “You did so good for me, Zuko, _so perfect_ —”

His words dissolve into pants and moans, and it’s kind of too much, at first, but then Zuko gets used to it all over again. It’s a dull burn, it makes Zuko ache, and if he wasn’t completely wrung out already, Zuko thinks he could maybe start to get hard again.

He doesn’t have a chance to, because Sokka comes, mouth open on Zuko’s neck, body flexing against Zuko’s back, then slowly going limp.

Sokka huffs a sigh and carefully slides out. It’s always an odd feeling. He peels himself off Zuko’s back, running a hand down his spine as he leaves. Zuko watches Sokka move around the bed and across his field of vision, going to the bathroom. Zuko shifts, flexing his fingers, and pulls a pillow to stick under his head.

When the bathroom door opens again, Sokka pauses, leaning against the doorframe, now shirtless. He looks at Zuko for a moment, brow pulling together.

“You okay?” he asks, and approaches the bed again.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Really.” Zuko sighs when Sokka climbs onto the bed again, feeling a warm washcloth passing over him. He spreads his legs a little. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Sokka’s silent for a minute, then clears his throat. “We should… talk.”

“I know. We should.” Zuko doesn’t _really_ want to talk. He wishes they could just fuck everything better, but that’s not really how it works. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t —” Sokka stops, and sighs. “Look, I’ve been a little testy lately, too. It’s not all on you.” The washcloth leaves, and Zuko rolls over, and leans up. He feels a little of Sokka’s come leak out, and grimaces; Sokka snorts, and wipes it up. The feeling of leaking, legs spread in front of Sokka, makes Zuko flush a little again.

“Um.” Zuko blushes harder when Sokka gives him a crooked smile and snickers. “Shut up. Look, maybe it’s not all on me —”

“It’s all _in_ you,” Sokka jokes, and Zuko gives his arm a light smack.

“Shut _up_. It’s not all on me, but it mostly is. The past few weeks have been busy, and I’ve been stressed about security and the issues with the fall harvest, but that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Sokka rubs a hand over Zuko’s knee soothingly, then his brow furrows. “You have a bruise.” He pokes it lightly.

“Ow. Yeah, I guess I do. Didn’t notice it before you _poked it,_ ” Zuko gripes.

Sokka clambers over Zuko, settling along next to him with his head propped up in his hand. “Thanks for saying sorry. I just… I’ve missed you, been worried about you. You stay up so late when you get like this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You really need to sleep more.”

“I _know_.”

“I know you know. I’m still gonna tell you.” Sokka pokes Zuko’s nose. “I love you a lot. Even when you’re being stupid.”

Zuko smiles and blinks up at his husband, so handsome even with a split lip and a bruised cheekbone. “I love you, too.”

“You’re not allowed to get assassinated, okay?” Sokka says, and smiles weakly. “It would be really rude.”

“Sokka, love.” His eyes fill above Zuko, even through his smile, and he chokes out a laugh. “My love, I’m never going to leave you. Never.” Sokka’s tears spill over, and Zuko brushes them away gently. “I hate that you worry about that.”

“Of course I worry.”

“But it makes you upset, and that makes _me_ upset.”

“And now we’re both upset,” Sokka laughs, voice thick. “Look at us.”

“Mm, so don’t worry. Not right now, at least.” Zuko pulls him down for another kiss. “We kicked their asses, and I’m still here, and you fucked my brains out.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Sokka says cockily, and Zuko wrinkles his nose, but gives him more kisses.

Zuko pulls back, just barely. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it already has.”

“Shut up and cuddle me to sleep.”

Sokka laughs and pulls away, shifting, and pulls yet another bolt out of the mattress. “Wow, this bed is really fucked, isn’t it.”

Zuko sighs, wriggling under the covers and turning towards Sokka. “Whatever. I’m exhausted. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

Sokka gets an arm around Zuko, grinning and kissing his neck in little tickling pecks, and Zuko squirms.

“Aw, did I wear you out?” he teases, and Zuko huffs, burrowing his face into Sokka’s chest.

“Shut _up_.”


End file.
